


time capsule

by AngelElectric



Category: Steam Powered Giraffe
Genre: Gen
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2017-12-02
Updated: 2017-12-02
Packaged: 2019-02-09 14:04:29
Rating: Teen And Up Audiences
Warnings: Graphic Depictions Of Violence, Major Character Death
Chapters: 1
Words: 813
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/12889482
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/AngelElectric/pseuds/AngelElectric
Summary: vent fic focusing on the jon and surreal imagery





	time capsule

**Author's Note:**

> this was written probably around summer of 2013, when sam was a human drummer, bunny was still playing rabbit as male and michael reed existed. also, the jon was there.

it’s dark and sometimes (all the time) he can hear voices coming towards him from out of the dark. they’re good voices most of the time but sometimes (almost every time, really) they’re harsh and cruel and they say things he doesn’t want to hear  
‘-left his brothers to die!’  
‘i heard that there wasn’t even a body-‘  
‘psychopath-‘  
and he doesn't want to hear these things! they’re not true, after all

none of it is true

the manor’s still standing, he can see it! he can see it in front of him whenever he cares to look  
(and ignore the invading darkness, my dear, ignore the screams and cries and choked off sobs-)  
and he can walk in the front door any time he wants, just you see! he can walk in and his brothers’ll be there waiting for him and  
(their chassis torn up and ripped apart, all him, all his **fault** , broken bleeding bodies and my dears, my darlings, can’t you see the blood on his hands?)  
they’ll welcome him home with open arms, just you wait, _just you wait_.

and the manor is an illusion of course, he can see that now. there’s just the darkness pressing in and the voices which just don’t quit, rising and falling and moving away and returning and never, never leaving him be.

his brothers are gone and he’s gone and everything is just

gone

gone gone gone

and there’s nothing now but him and the voices and the damnable voices and they just won’t _stop_

and they stop

and then there’s peace and the manor is in front of him, of course! where else would it be but where it always was? and there’s no voices, was never any voices, nothing but birdsong out here, oh yes! and he can see through the open door now, he’s at the head of the drive but a split second ago he was at the bottom and-

and the darkness returns

the voices return

and he thinks that maybe this is the entire world, this tiny sphere of darkness and voices and now he’s not even sure if he’s real, if he’s got a body of his own

perhaps the darkness is him and the voices are him and-

and something in him reaches out and before him is the manor and now he can hear his brothers talking (screaming) and he so so wants to join them but something is pulling him back and

-and he can’t move so maybe  
just maybe  
nothing is real

the voices fade away  
the darkness fades away and then  
there before him  
  there  
          is  
             light

bursting from everywhere around him and he can’t see he can’t _see_ the darkness has robbed him of everything that was ever him and now even the light is too much and he longs for the darkness and he _longs_ for the voices because that’s all he’s ever known, can’t you see?  
he’s never known a manor and he’s never known life and he’s never known anything but the darkness and the voices and my darlings, my little loves, can’t you see he’s dying out here in the light?

and before him there is nothing but white, stripping away everything from him, plating peeling away from glittering cogs and coils falling away from his metal skeleton and even inside him the light strips away, _goldorangewhite_ scales falling away from tender pink flesh until there’s nothing left but bleached bones

and then even this was an illusion, of course! there’s no such thing as light, he knows this, and the voices which taunt him know this, with their talk of ‘optics torn out’ and ‘non-responsive’ and ‘brotherkiller’  
and he can’t stand it any more he can’t stand the voices and their lying _poisonous_ words because of course his brothers aren’t dead! they’re alive and well and waiting for him just up ahead, so close he can almost reach out and _touch_ them and so that’s what he does!  
and they turn to him

and they turn to him

they turn to him

and copper and silver fall  
                                       to  
                                          the  
                                               ground

dripping like wax from their grinning, oil streaked faces and he tries to scream, to run away, to move at _all_ but nothing works, my little loves, _nothing works_ and he’s stuck there as the metal pools around his feet and rises, creeping up his legs and he can’t _move_ and everything is gone wrong and my love, what if he did kill his brothers? his family, they who loved him and offered only love?

what if the voices who’ve taunted him so long were right?

What if, in a small room, in a far-off part of some unknown part of the world, there lies an automaton, gleaming brass and silver and copper, with dark dried red on his hands?

What if, my darlings?


End file.
